23 Words for Emotions We All Feel but Can't Name, by John Koenig

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23 New Words for Emotions That We All Feel, but Can’t Explain

Some feelings are so common that almost everyone has had them, yet ordinary English offers no single word for them: the jolt of realising a stranger on the train has a whole inner life, or the odd calm of sitting indoors while a storm rages outside. John Koenig decided to name them. His project, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows, coins new words for exactly these hard-to-describe emotions, and 23 of them are gathered below, each with a plain explanation and a note on when you might recognise it in your own life.

A word of honesty first: these are invented words. You will not find most of them in a standard dictionary, and Koenig has never claimed otherwise. Their value is not official status but recognition. When a word lands, it tells you that a private, slightly strange feeling is shared by many other people.

Who John Koenig is and how the dictionary began

Koenig is an American writer and graphic designer. According to Wikipedia's account of the project, the idea took shape in 2006 while he was a student at Macalester College in Minnesota and struggling to write poetry that matched what he felt. He began posting entries online, first on Tumblr, then on a dedicated website, and later in a YouTube series of short video essays that narrate individual words over music and images.

He describes the goal in one sentence: "Each original definition aims to fill a hole in the language." Most entries come with a made-up etymology built from roots in Latin, Greek, German and other languages, so the words feel as if they could have existed all along.

The project spread widely in June 2015, when a list of 23 of its words was shared across social media; that viral list is the one this article explains. Simon & Schuster published the collection as a book on 16 November 2021, and it went on to become a bestseller.

Words about other people and connection

Sonder is the moment it sinks in that every passer-by is the main character of a story as rich and complicated as yours. It often arrives on a busy street, in an airport, or when you glimpse lit windows from a train at night. It is probably the best known of all Koenig's words and has been borrowed for album titles, shop names and tattoos.

Opia names the charged, uncertain feeling of holding eye contact with someone. Looking into another person's eyes can feel intrusive and exposing at the same time, which is why most of us glance away within a few seconds unless we know the person well.

Adronitis is impatience with how slowly real friendship forms. You meet someone you like and wish you could skip the months of small talk and simply know them. Psychologists who study friendship note that closeness really does take many hours of shared time, so the frustration is understandable.

Anecdoche describes a conversation where everybody is speaking and nobody is actually listening, each person waiting for a turn to tell their own story. The word appears to blend "anecdote" with "synecdoche", and it fits plenty of family dinners and group chats.

Mauerbauertraurigkeit is the puzzling impulse to shut people out, even friends you genuinely like. The long German-style compound can be read as "wall-builder sadness", a fitting picture of someone quietly laying bricks between themselves and others. If the urge is constant rather than occasional, it can be worth talking it through with someone you trust.

Exulansis is the habit of giving up on describing an experience because listeners cannot relate to it. People returning from war, serious illness, long travel or grief often know this feeling well, and it is one reason support groups of people with the same experience help so much.

Words about place, home and atmosphere

Monachopsis is a quiet, lingering sense of not belonging where you are, like a sea creature stranded on land. New students, new employees and recent immigrants often describe exactly this low-level awkwardness before a place starts to feel like theirs.

Vellichor is the wistful mood of a second-hand bookshop, where every worn spine hints at earlier owners and unread lives. Anyone who has lost an afternoon among dusty shelves knows it immediately.

Kenopsia is the eerie emptiness of a place built for crowds once the crowds have gone: a school corridor in summer, an office at midnight, a stadium after the match. The space seems to remember the noise. Photographers of abandoned buildings have built whole genres around this feeling.

Chrysalism is the snug, almost womb-like calm of being indoors during a thunderstorm, listening to rain on the roof while you stay warm and dry. Its name echoes the chrysalis, the protective casing in which a caterpillar transforms.

Rückkehrunruhe is what happens after a vivid trip: you come home and feel the experience slipping away almost at once as routine takes over. In German, "Rückkehr" means return and "Unruhe" means restlessness. Keeping a short travel journal or printing a few photos is a simple way to hold on to more of it.

Words about the self and the body

Rubatosis is the uneasy moment you become aware of your own heartbeat, perhaps lying in bed or after climbing stairs. Researchers call this kind of body awareness interoception, and it varies a lot between people. A heartbeat that feels unusual or irregular, rather than simply noticeable, is something to talk to a doctor about.

Onism is the frustration of being limited to one body in one place at one time, while the map of the world on your wall reminds you of everywhere you will never be. It is a good word for the restlessness of scrolling through other people's travel photos.

Occhiolism is awareness of how narrow your own point of view is, and of how little anyone can see from a single life. The word seems to draw on "occhiolino", Italian for a little eye, the name Galileo gave to an early microscope. It is a useful feeling to cultivate before strong opinions.

Liberosis is the wish to care less about things, to hold life loosely instead of gripping it. Many people feel it during stressful periods, and it echoes old ideas from Stoic and Buddhist thought about letting go of what you cannot control.

Altschmerz is weariness with your own long-running problems: the same flaws, worries and habits you have been chewing on for years. It plays on the German "Weltschmerz" (world-weariness), with "alt", meaning old, in place of "Welt".

Words about time, history and the story of your life

Énouement is the bittersweet feeling of having reached the future, knowing how things turned out, and being unable to go back and tell your younger self. It often surfaces when you look at old photos and remember what you were worrying about at the time.

Ellipsism is sadness at never finding out how history will turn out. You will not see what becomes of your great-grandchildren, of cities, or of the questions science is working on now. The name seems to borrow from the ellipsis, the three dots at the end of an unfinished sentence.

Nodus tollens is the moment you realise the plot of your life no longer makes sense to you, as if the story you thought you were living has wandered off script. It is a playful twist on "modus tollens", a rule of formal logic, with the Latin "nodus" (knot) in place of "modus". Midlife changes, redundancy and divorce can all bring it on.

Jouska is the imaginary conversation you replay in your head, rehearsing what you should have said or will say next time. Psychologists describe repetitive, unproductive versions of this as rumination. Writing the conversation down, or simply having the real one, usually ends the loop faster.

Words about a noisy, crowded world

Vemödalen is the frustration of photographing something wonderful and knowing that thousands of nearly identical shots already exist. It is a very modern feeling, born in the age of smartphones and photo-sharing apps. The first part of the word looks borrowed from the Swedish "vemod", a tender kind of melancholy.

Kuebiko is the exhaustion that follows news of senseless violence, when another attack or shooting leaves you numb rather than shocked. The word appears to borrow its name from Kuebiko, a figure in Japanese Shinto tradition depicted as a scarecrow who knows everything but cannot move. Limiting how much distressing news you take in each day is a reasonable way to protect yourself without looking away completely.

Lachesism is the strange longing to be struck by disaster, to survive a plane crash or lose everything in a fire, just to be shaken out of routine. Its name seems to recall Lachesis, one of the three Fates of Greek mythology, who measured out the thread of each person's life. As a passing daydream it is common; if thoughts of disaster feel more like a wish to be harmed, please talk to a doctor or someone you trust.

Why naming a feeling can help

Koenig's words are playful, but there is a serious idea underneath them. Psychologists use the term "affect labelling" for the simple act of putting feelings into words, and research suggests that naming an emotion can take some of the edge off it. Having precise words for what you feel is sometimes called emotional granularity, and people who describe their emotions in finer detail often find them easier to manage.

The invented words also do something social. Saying "I have a bad case of altschmerz today" turns a vague slump into something you can laugh about and share. That is probably why the list travelled so far: readers saw their own private moods reflected back and felt less alone with them.

If you want more, Koenig's website and his YouTube videos remain the best place to explore the full collection, and the book gathers hundreds of entries with his illustrations and invented etymologies.

Sources: John Koenig, The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (words, definitions and header image); Wikipedia: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows; Simon & Schuster: The Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows (2021); the 2015 list was shared by I Heart Intelligence.

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